


And We Can Grow Again

by ChipOfftheOldSoul



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Baking, Because Shitty, Bullying Mention, Canon-typical swearing, Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Oops, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmates, The Haus, They're all family, and then angst invaded, cuddle puddle, have you noticed a theme?, i know nothing about baking pies, parental abandonment, this ended up way more therapeutic than intended, this was only meant to be a study in platonic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipOfftheOldSoul/pseuds/ChipOfftheOldSoul
Summary: Everyone has a soulmate. Or, at least, it can’t be proven that anyone doesn’t have a soulmate. Jack has Shitty. Ransom has Holster. Bitty has Suzanne. Soulmates are meant to comfort, support and stabilize one another and, usually, they do. But there are exceptions.





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone had a soulmate. Or, at least, it couldn’t be proven that anyone didn’t have a soulmate. Not everyone met their soulmate, of course, not in this lifetime at least. Some soulmates lived on other sides of the globe from one another, some from whole other time periods. One well-known archeologist from Berkley had found their soulmate’s written history from the Dark Ages of France. Some soulmates only ever met once in their whole lives. It wasn’t unusual for soulmates to make sudden appearances at deathbeds or when their partners needed more comfort than any other time in their lives.

Many soulmates, even those that never met, maintained contact with one another. Some could write messages across their skin back and forth. Other pairs could hear one another in their thoughts. One man Jack had met could only ever hear his soulmate when the other man sang, and vice versa; both men happened to be painfully tone-deaf.

Pairings were rarely romantic. Most often, partners described the emotion involved as platonic, familiar or, in Kent’s case, as “terrifyingly fucking intimate friendship.” There were romantic pairings and pairing that began platonic and evolved to be romantic or sexual, but no one except for the romantically paired themselves and the most fanciful of the Unfounds actually believed that a romantic match was any more valuable than a platonic match.

“But just imagine it,” Jack overheard in the library one day. Other students really shouldn’t be so loud in public study areas, Jack thought. It was distracting. Technically, classes hadn’t started yet, but Jack needed to stay on top of his coursework or he would fall so far behind, he would never be able to catch back up again then he knew would be kicked off the college hockey team and if he couldn’t make it through the NCAA, he would never make it back to the NHL. He couldn’t let his dad down like that, or his mom who had put so much effort into his recovery over the last few years.

“Just imagine it,” the unknown—and definitely not studying—student pressed again. His tone was breathy, almost desperate. It was irritating. “They could be your whole world! Your rock and your love and your…everything. Doesn’t that sound so much better, relying on just that one, perfect person?”

“No, that sounds unhealthy,” another man replied tersely. “No one can live off just one meaningful relationship and no one should have to provide an entire support system by themselves. That relationship would crumble in no time.”

“But won’t Jen get jealous when you do fall in love someday and won’t you be jealous of whoever she falls in love with?”

“No.” The other man snorted at the ridiculous question. “I want Jen to be happy and she wants the same for me.”

“But if she leaves you, moves away or—”

“So what? First off, we’ll still see one another’s colors and we’ll still be able to text and call and Skype and email and send fucking telegrams if we need to. Secondly, she wouldn’t be ‘leaving me’ because it wouldn’t be about me. It would be about her and her own progression in her own life, same as when I move somewhere else too.”

Though there was no one to see him in his bookshelf-concealed corner, Jack nodded decisively. Jack was familiar with his own soulmate’s touch, though he hadn’t met them and didn’t expect that he ever would, considering his own poor luck. However, both his parents had their soulmates. Jack had grown up with Sylvia and Corbin as constants in his life, his only aunt and uncle seeing as both his parents were only children. Five years ago, in fact, they had married one another.

Through everything that had happened in their lives, Sylvia and Corbin had always been there for Alicia and Bob. When Jack had come home from the hospital after the overdose, Corbin, with his gentleness, had been the one to help his mother care for him while Sylvia and her patented Fuck-You-And-Everything-You-Stand-For stare had helped Bob keep both press and fans away from Jack. Corbin had helped Alicia and Bob move Jack down to school a few days ago, and Sylvia had sent her love along with complaints that she felt like she about to pop. Alicia and Bob’s goddaughter was due any day now.

The disagreement several shelves over continued, but Jack didn’t have the patience to listen to any more of it. Instead, he packed up his reading materials and left the library. He needed to be at the Faber soon anyway. The first practice of the hockey pre-season would start in a few hours and he could use the quiet ice rink to finish up these readings.

As he walked, Jack felt the familiar warmth of fingers running through his hair then light pats of pressure simultaneously on both palms. After a few minutes the patting, the warmth slid across his scalp again. And again. His soulmate must be nervous. They only played with their hair so much when they were—at least, it seemed that the extra sharp tugs and frequent pets came most often during holidays or when most people his age had final exams.

Jack imagined his soulmate pacing, pulling at their hair, lightly clapping their hands as if trying to psych themselves up for…who knew what. Jack certainly didn’t. Forcing himself not to focus on the unknown, Jack instead shifted his backpack to hang more securely and shoved his sleeves up to his elbows before firmly smoothing his fingertips up and down his forearms, careful to keep the motion as soothing as he could manage. He knew his soulmate could feel the phantom touch because the increasingly sharp tugs along his scalp stopped immediately. After a moment, Jack felt his soulmate imitate him, stoking the back of their hands while Jack continued to rub his forearms. A few people Jack passed looked at him oddly, but, for now, he didn’t let himself be bothered by the attention. He was focusing on his soulmate’s stress right now and that helped to quiet his own. Other times—too many—would come when Jack would depend on his soulmate to sooth him just like they had done thousands of times before, but for this moment, Jack got to be useful, too.

When he approached the Faber, Samwell University’s ice rink, Jack stopped his strokes with a soft pat, a signal between himself and his soulmate that they had developed years ago and indicated that one or the other of them had to go now. The phantom touch along his hands paused for just one moment before continuing in their rhythm, but Jack didn’t press it. The touch was comforting.

The doors of the Faber were still locked and Jack couldn’t see anyone through the glass to let him in so he sat himself down on the concrete steps out front and pulled out his social sciences textbook.

He didn’t notice that he had let himself become so interested in the reading until he looked up nearly an hour later to find the sun in a different section of the sky and another guy coming toward him, hands shoved into the pockets of his cutoff jean shorts and a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you mix up the start time, too?” the guy asked. He had an easy smile and reddish-brown hair that was just starting to grow past his ears. “Yeah, I didn’t realize until I was already halfway here from the dorms and at that point, it wasn’t fucking worth it to turn back. What’re you reading?” he added and dropped himself next to Jack, just a little too close, though for once, Jack didn’t bristle.

“Euh, social sciences, just, you know, prepping,” Jack said. Absently, he stroked a hand up his arm at the same time the other guy reached up and ruffled his own hair. It took Jack a moment to realize that he felt both touches. By the widening of his eyes, the younger man realized it at the exact same time.

“So,” the other man said, “soulmate, huh?” Jack nodded mutely. “Name’s Shitty Knight. No,” he added, when Jack tried to ask, “I’m not gonna scar you with the pretentious shit that’s printed on my birth certificate.”

“Jack Zimmerman.” Jack let—Shitty?—enthusiastically shake his hand even when he saw the recognition in his eyes. He waited for Shitty to release him, for the familiar disgust to darken his clear eyes and for the, certainly inevitable, demand of a soulmate refund or compensation for this poor turn of events.

“Well, damn, Jackabelle, it is fucking fantastic to finally meet you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got off work and need some relief so I'm posting the next chapter a day early. You're welcome.
> 
> For those that noticed some potential, er, /intimate/ issues that could occur with Jack and Shitty's very tactile bond, let me assure you, this is not that kind of fic. There will be a better explanation in chapter 3, but, basically, the phantom touches only occur when one or the other needs comfort or support. Nothing else. I promise. Again, this fic is only rated T, after all.
> 
> Anyways, have a comforting Shitty. And, as always, let me know if I've screwed something up.

Jack felt a buzz in the back of his head. Not the kind that came from alcohol or drugs, the kind that came from feeling everyone looking at him, though, logically, he knew conversation had moved away long ago. Only Shitty actually still seemed aware of him and was in fact watching him with concern, neither of them eating much. Jack could feel Shitty’s right hand clasped over his left wrist, though the other man was sat across the table and several seats down. Jack was grateful for the firm hold. It kept him grounded.

Captain. The team had voted him Captain ‘by a close margin’. That meant that there were a lot of the guys who hadn’t wanted him to be the captain and would be upset about it now. They’d be watching him, waiting for him to screw up and he inevitably would. He was still just a frog.  Next year would only be his sophomore year. Granted, he was still older than most everyone and he already had experience as captain of his team in the Q, but he had nearly ruined everything there and—a tight squeeze around his wrist cut that thought off and Jack looked up to see Shitty stand and nod toward the door meaningfully.

Jack followed Shitty out. When he looked back, he saw Hall and Murray watching him worriedly, but as soon as he was close enough, Shitty threw his arm over Jack’s shoulder and pulled him out of the banquet hall with surprising gentleness.

“Jack, you need to calm down,” Shitty was saying when Jack finally started paying attention. Jack focused on the arm holding him close to Shitty’s side, Shitty’s other hand holding Jack’s hand, the muffled sound their steps made on the carpet, and Shitty’s voice rather than the conflicting emotions that were pulsing in his own mind. “You’re fine, I promise and we’re going to go sit outside for a few minutes until you remember that, okay? Stay with me, bud.”

A moment later, Shitty’s hand left his, but at the same moment, cool air flooded around them. Shitty had let them out a back exit and without hesitating, Shitty immediately stopped and sat them down on the cold concrete steps.

“Jack?” Shitty nudged him. “Check in with me, please. What are you feeling?” It took Jack a moment to sort that out

“They made me captain,” Jack said eventually. It said a lot about their bond that Shitty didn’t roll his eyes or comment that he hadn’t actually answered the question.

“We did,” Shitty agreed instead. “How do you feel about that, bro?”

“I don’t know why they would do that?” Jack said. “They all know my history, so are they waiting for me to screw up or are they just doing it because of my name, like to kiss up to my dad or something?” Jack hung his head nearly to his knees and shoved his hands into his hair, pulling so hard that it was painful. Before he responded to Jack’s question, Shitty reached over and easily untangled Jack’s fingers from his hair. He pulled Jack’s hands over into his own lap, forcing Jack to sit up a little more.

“I can’t answer for the rest of them,” Shitty said, once all hair maiming had been prevented, “but I voted for them because I believe in you, bro. I’ve seen the way you’ve acted this year, the way you’ve treated all our teammates with respect, even when they weren’t treating you with it. Plus, you’re the one who took the time all season to help us frogs and the sophomores with our playing, improving all of our stats. None of the seniors or juniors took the time to train with any of us one-on-one outside of practice.” Jack shrugged.

“I didn’t do much. You guys had the determination to get there, your technique just needed a bit of tweaking.” Or a lot of tweaking, in some cases, but they had gotten there, mostly.

Shitty nodded, “Yeah, but you were the only one to really help us there. And besides,” he said, “like you said, you do have the experience from captaining in the Q.”

“Shitty, I screwed that up about as much as I could,” Jack scowled.

“You haven’t touched a drop of alcohol this whole year, not even at the Haus parties,” Shitty argued, “and you’ve been careful with your meds. You’re not making the same mistakes as before. You’re growing, Jackie-boy, and you’re helping others grow, and I am proud of you.”

_I am proud of you._

Jack didn’t hear those words often any more. Not from his dad, not from his coaches, not from his teammates. They filled him with an odd warmth that pushed back some of the battering anxiety. Jack leaned to rest his head on Shitty’s shoulder to hide the tears that formed. Shitty seemed to know anyways because he wrapped both arms around Jack and pressed the side of his head against the top of Jack’s. Jack could feel Shitty’s shaggy flow tickling his neck, but he didn’t move. Instead, he let himself soak in the warmth of his soulmate at his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty enters the scene.

Jack was working on his homework at the kitchen table this time, which was, incidentally, becoming a more common occurrence this year than it had ever been before. If asked, Jack would reason that since Bittle was working on perfecting a recipe for the filling of their final project, Jack should be there, even if he wasn’t actively helping for now.

In the months since Bittle had moved into the Haus, Jack had finally grown used to his constant movement and noise. The pop music and babble that persistently issued from wherever Bittle found himself had finally become comfortable background noise. In fact, those times when Bittle sat or, god forbid, baked silently were the most terrifying of all.

Fortunately, those times were few and far between and for now, Bittle was baking happily. While he bobbed back and forth around the kitchen, he sang along to some Nicki Minaj song Jack would never admit to knowing because of the Southern smugness that would inevitably rain down on him. After a few minutes of watching Bittle, Jack settled over his homework and relaxed to Bittle’s rhythm.

“Shoot, Mama, not right now,” Bittle complained some time later. The complaint pulled Jack out of his revising and he looked up to see Bittle holding his spoon a few inches from his lips. The scent of apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen, but Bittle was unsatisfied.

“What’s up?” Jack asked. As usual, Bittle’s phone was on the counter next to him, but the screen was dark.

“Mama’s cooking too,” Bittle sighed. He waited a few more seconds before finally tasting his filling. “And, of course,” he continued, “her pie tastes amazing, but I can’t exactly test my apple filling while she’s testing her chocolate-mint filling, can I? I’ll have to text her the day we actually make this and make sure we won’t be conflicting with her schedule.”

“Er, why—”

“Try this, Jack, do you think it’s too tart? Should I toss some Red Delicious apples in, too?” Bittle shoved his spoon in Jack’s face and Jack automatically allowed Bittle to use him as his second taste-tester, though he wasn’t sure why Bittle thought Jack would be helpful. This was the fifth batch; Jack knew the drill by now, whether or not he understood it.

“A bit tart,” Jack agreed, “but I like it that way?” Jack tilted the declaration into a question, but Bittle smiled approvingly.

“We can do tart,” Bittle said and moved back to the stove to move the filling off the burner. “Though, we should probably balance that out by making a slightly sweeter crust. I’ll experiment with the crust next weekend. Lord, though, we’ll have to buy a lot of lard for this—”

“That’s fine, I’ll pick it up on my way back from my meeting on Friday,” Jack said. Bittle glanced up sharply and looked like he was going to ask, but Jack beat him and redirected the topic. “What were you saying a minute ago, about your mom and cooking?”

“Oh! Well mama and I have the olfactory and gustatory connection—you know, smell and taste?—specifically for when we cook, for some reason, and it was simple when we lived in the same house and were cooking together, of course, and when I didn’t have constant access to a kitchen, but now that we’re both always cooking, we run into each other now and then and it can get the littlest bit confusing when that happens, you know? But usually it’s fine.” Bittle punctuated his words with one hand while he started cleaning up with the other. It took just a moment before Jack thought through what Bittle had said before he understood.

“You and your mom are soulmates?”

“Yeah! Oh, I thought I had mentioned that before? Maybe not.” Bittle’s forehead scrunched as if he were running through all their old conversations in his head and Jack hurried to say something.

“You probably have, I just must not have heard, sorry.” If Bittle had mentioned it anytime during his first year, Jack had likely been purposely ignoring him and he squashed the shame he felt at his past self. Bittle had said, repeatedly, that he forgave Jack and Jack was in turn working to forgive himself. He didn’t need to weigh down others with his guilt. He hurried to move the topic along. “But you’ve had your soulmate all your life. That must be great.”

“Yeah,” Bittle smiled, but a shadow passed over his expression when he continued, “I don’t know what I would do without Mama.” Jack thought about pressing, but Bittle turned around before he could. “Shitty’s your soulmate, isn’t he? I think he mentioned that my frog year.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. _Speak of the devil_ …Jack felt a soft tug on his ear coming from the man who was still at the library studying for his LSATs again.

“That must have been loud, I can’t even imagine!” Bittle grinned over his shoulder. He should have looked ridiculous doing dishes in yellow rubber gloves, but somehow, Bittle pulled it off.

“Euh, not so much actually. It’s more, euh—”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Bittle said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jack reassured him. “It’s pretty simple actually. Just touch. Not every touch of course,” that would have been too overwhelming and would have led to some _extremely_ embarrassing nights, “and not any touches from other people either. Just,” Jack scrambled for an example, “you know when Shitty compulsively combs through his hair? Or when he gets anxious and pats his hands together, like really light clapping? Touch only comes through the bond when one of us needs help or stabilizing.”

“I think I get it.” Bittle folded his dish drying towels back into the specified drawer—he had threatened to label the drawer the last time Holster forgot—then leaned back against the counter. “That makes sense for Shitty actually,” Bittle mused. “He’s always so tactile, but what about you? I wouldn’t have thought that was something you would be comfortable with?” Bittle’s voice trailed off a bit towards the end as if he had only realized what he was saying as the words left his mouth. The uncertainty when he met Jack’s eye again felt like a punch in the gut and Jack knew he still had a lot of work to do before Bittle would completely trust him. The unhelpful voice in the back of his mind asked why he wanted that trust, but Jack hastily ignored it; he had a lot of practice.

“Actually, something to focus on—like touch—was always really helpful, especially when I used to have more anxiety attacks,” Jack tried to explain. “We even sort of worked out a system when we were younger, totally unconscious at first, when we needed the other’s help, you know? Though Shitty just falls on my bed when he needs attention these days,” Jack chuckled and Bittle joined him eyes shining.

“I think that’s great,” Bittle said, smile soft. “I’m glad you two have been there for each other.”

“Yeah, well, it’s usually him being more helpful that me,” Jack shrugged and looked away.

“Jack Laurent Zimmerman, don’t you sell yourself short! I’m sure Shitty would agree with me that you have been just as helpful to him as he has been to you.” Shitty did. In fact, he had a full lecture series he had perfected back in their frog year and still pulled out from time to time when he felt Jack was being too self-depreciating.

Luckily, Jack was rescued by Chowder and Nursey tumbling into the kitchen, both begging Bitty for sugar to combat a horrendously long study session. Bittle turned his attention to the frogs immediately, but as he passed Jack’s seat, he softly patted Jack’s shoulder. Jack felt a blush rise on the back of his neck as that one part of himself grinned smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a better explanation Jack&Shitty's bond for anyone who was feeling a bit squicked out. Also, intro to Bitty&Suzanne's bond. Let me know if there's any confusion.
> 
> Comments and kudos make birds sing and plants grow (and my baby basil plant really needs some help right now, guys).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got off the phone with my insurance company, my old doctor's office, and a biolab. I'm stressed. Have a chapter.
> 
> It gets worse before it gets better. Sorry.

When Jack pulled up in front of the Haus, he was grateful to see that the snow which had been threatening to fall since he left Providence hadn’t yet followed through. Bittle would never agree to come near Jack him when he was covered in snow.

Jack didn’t bother knocking when he reached the porch because even though he couldn’t come up often, the Haus residents still treated him like he belonged there, even if most of the frogs only knew him from ESPN.

The Haus was full of its usual chaotic warmth. The old TV was blaring reruns of some sitcom and Chowder was dozing in front of it, his homework spread out across the thinning carpet around him. Ransom was pinned to one end of the green couch by five textbooks and at least two open packs of index cards while Holster was set up on the opposite end of the couch with his laptop open and numbers reflected in the lenses of the glasses dripping off the end of his nose. Their legs were stretched out and tangled between them, but it was no surprise that they were sat close together. Ransom and Holster described their bond as a rubber band stretched between them and it always told each of them how far and in what direction the other was. Neither liked the tight feel of a stretched bond, so, as often as possible, they clung to one another in some way or another.

No one else was in the living room and from the kitchen came the sounds and smells of careful cooking. Jack began gravitating that way. “Jack!” Holster noticed him before he could get far and the giant blond abandoned his open Excel spreadsheets to jump over the back of the couch and tackle Jack before the other man could even say ‘hello’. Holster didn’t let go or pull away until Jack felt a slightly shorter body embrace him from behind.

“Hey, Ransom,” Jack said, voice muffled by the man in front of him.

“’Hey, Ransom?’” Holster objected. “What about me? What about ‘Hey, Holster?’ You’ve wounded me, bro!” Holster had drawn an arm’s length away and was still holding Jack by his upper arms. Ransom stayed glued to Jack’s back, his chin hooked over Jack’s shoulder.

“What about you?” Jack teased. “I saw you last weekend when you gave Bittle a ride down to my place. And then you wouldn’t. Leave.” Jack raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Ransom snickered in his ear.

“I told you not to be a cockblock, Holtzy,” he sang.

“I was trying to protect Bitty’s innocence!” Holster defended. Jack snorted.

“What?” Jack smiled innocently at Holster’s gaping expression of shock. “You two have been trying to get Bittle laid since he was a frog. Why are you so concerned about his innocence now?” Holster looked scandalized and judging from the sharp chin digging into his shoulder, Ransom’s expression matched.

Jack carefully untangled him from the two other men and made his way to the kitchen. From behind him, he heard Holster hiss, “I didn’t know Canadians could be so evil.”

Bittle wasn’t baking for once, but he was supervising Dex and Nursey while they cooked dinner. Homework was spread around him on the kitchen table, but considering that Bittle was also sitting on top of the table, his eyes glued to the bickering sophomores, Jack doubted that Bittle had accomplished anything in a while. Though, Bittle would probably protest that assessment by arguing that he had made sure Nursey and Dex didn’t hurt Besty 2.0. Bittle looked over though when he heard Jack’s footsteps and the way his expression morphed from concerned to comforted wrapped around Jack like a warm breeze.

“Hi, swee—Jack.” Bittle hopped up from the table to meet Jack somewhere in the middle. Dex and Nursey were watching them with little smirks and Dex was already reaching for the ever-present Sin Bin, but Jack didn’t honestly care at the moment; he hadn’t seen Bittle in ages.

“Hey, Bits.” Before he pulled Bittle to his side, Jack pulled a few ones out of his wallet and tossed them in Dex’s direction. Then he had Bittle in his arms and was nuzzling into his warmth. They weren’t comfortable with much PDA, even around those they trusted to know about them, but this was necessary. It had been a long, long week since they had seen one another and because Jack had a string of away games coming up and Bittle had finals soon, it would be almost a month until they would see one another again. They stood there holding one another like that for several long minutes, until Dex spoke up.

“If you two don’t stop in the next ten seconds, it’s going to be another fine.” Bittle pulled away from Jack with an unheated glare at the sophomore and went back to gather up his homework.

Jack joined them for dinner, but afterward, everyone mysteriously disappeared. Dex and Nursey left for their dorms and Lardo went back to her studio after a quick food break. Ransom and Holster clambered back up to their room and Chowder was out with his girlfriend, Farmer. Jack and Bittle were alone in the living room, Jack laid out on the couch and Bittle laid out on top of him, carefully not touching any of the green fabric.

“I was gonna ask you,” Bittle began eventually. They hadn’t been talking much, just enjoying the physical contact and breathing together while Jack drew circles on Bittle’s back. Whatever Bittle had been going to say stumbled when Jack stilled his hands.

“What’s up?” Jack asked and resumed the soothing motions. He could hear the click when Bittle swallowed against a dry throat, but he didn’t push. A few moments later, Bittle tried again.

“I was gonna ask if I could stay with you for Christmas break this year. Unless you were going to visit your parents! I don’t want to intrude, or anything and I’ll be fine here, I just thought—”

“Bits, it’s fine,” Jack said. “I would love to spend Christmas with you. My parents were talking about coming down for a few days, so you’d get to see them too. But don’t you usually go home for Christmas? Is everything okay?” Jack’s grew concerned when Bittle didn’t answer. “Bits?”

“I don’t know!” Bittle cried before slapping a hand over his mouth. Jack readjusted so that he could see Bittle’s face and was startled to see tears brimming in his boyfriend’s eyes, just a nudge away from falling.

“C’mon, Bits, let’s go upstairs.” Jack carefully led Bittle up to the younger man’s bedroom, locking the door behind them then settling Bittle onto his own bed against the headboard. He sat on the edge next to Bittle and looked him in the eye. “What happened?”

Bittle took several deep breaths, wiping angrily and his tears and finally said. “Mama said it would be best if I didn’t come home this year.”

Jack stared at Bittle in shock. “Why?” he asked after a moment. Bittle loved his parents immensely and, though Eric and Coach had a somewhat complicated relationship, his parents seemed to generally dote on him in return. The Bittles missing a holiday together just felt…wrong.

“I think—well, what Mama said was that they were going to visit her sister’s family, that they’ve got so many younger kids running around there that it would probably be easier if I wasn’t there, that I’d probably be happier here.”

“But?” Jack urged.

“But it’s family and it’s Christmas and I love my cousins even if they are completely exhausting sometimes and I…we go to my aunt’s house every other year and it wasn’t a problem my freshman year so I don’t get…” Bittle trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut.

Jack had never been particularly good with words, so when Bittle needed comforting, Jack depended on touch, just like he had all his life. He leaned forward and drew Bittle onto his lap. He tightened his arms around the smaller man until Bittle stopped shaking quite so much. Until the earthquake eased into aftershocks. Jack rocked Bittle back and forth for several minutes.

“I think she suspects,” Bittle whispered into the quiet room.

“What?” Jack’s grip tightened.

“I think Mama suspects that I’m gay. I don’t think she knows I’m dating you though, don’t worry,” he hurried to add.

“I’m not worried about that,” Jack said. It was only partially a lie. He was very worried about how being outed, even to Suzanne and Richard Bittle, could affect his career, however, his priority was Eric. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Bittle said. “Coach has always been real vocal about how he feels about, uh, _homosexuals_ and Mama, I think she would follow him no matter what even if—” _Even if it costs her me_.

“I don’t think she would leave you,” Jack said. Bittle shivered, though whether it was at the words themselves or Jack’s breath on the back of his neck, Jack didn’t know. “I don’t just mean because she’s your mother, but she’s your soulmate and best friend and you’re hers, right? Leaving you would hurt her just as much.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure it’ll blow over in another month or two. It’s probably just the holidays that have her stressed,” Bittle said. The tension that still held his muscles coiled belied his words.

Jack didn’t have practice the next morning so he let himself fall asleep there wrapped snuggly around Bittle, only moving to sit Señor Bun on the desk, strip them both and change them into more comfortable sleeping clothes, and pull Bittle’s comforter up around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just 2 more chapters after this.
> 
> Kudos and comments help rain to fall and grass to grow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I hear, the last chapter was a bit heartbreaking for some. I am so sorry...because that was only supposed to be the anticipatory apprehension chapter. The real drama starts now.

Bittle had stayed with Jack for weekends here and there and a few overnight stays, but they had never been able spend more than a few days together since they had started dating. Jack had been looking forward to having Bittle there for all of Christmas break. Jack would still have practices and games, but Bittle would be there in his home when he returned home. For the first few days, everything was good, comfortable. When he was home, they cooked together, went out to explore Christmastime Providence and lounged around. They binged the Great British Baking Show on Netflix and Jack watched Bittle throw abuse at the bakers.

However, as Christmas approached, Bittle grew quieter and more withdrawn. He baked more and spoke less. When he curled up against Jack at night, he stayed still, only burrowing into Jack’s side before falling into a restless sleep that woke Jack as much as Bitty. Jack had hoped that having his parents there would help Bitty and give him something else to focus on, but while Bittle obviously adored both Alicia and Bob, they only seemed to serve as a reminder of Bittle’s own parents. On Christmas morning, they all exchanged gifts and on Christmas evening, Alicia and Bob returned home with expressions of concern. That night, Bittle leaned against him, obviously agitated, but still not speaking until Jack had turned the lights out and crawled into bed with him.

“I haven’t heard from my parents yet today,” Bittle said quietly. “I sent them a text this morning asking them to call me when they had a moment. I didn’t even get a text. Not even from Mama. Not even a ‘thank you’ for their gifts.” Jack smoothed a hand up Bittle’s back. “And Mama’s been baking constantly and she keeps making my pecan pie, but she hasn’t said a single word to me. I’m scared.”

“Bits, whatever happens, you’ll get through it, I promise. You’re strong.”

But Bittle shook his head and buried his face further into Jack’s neck. “Only because I’ve always been able to rely on her,” he said, in a tone people usually reserved for confessionals. “Back in Georgia when I was bullied and harassed for looking and acting the way I do, I never told Mama or Coach everything. Obviously, they knew things were bad and that was one of the reasons we moved, but I never told anyone how bad things got, not even Mama. But I was okay because I knew that I would always have her and she would always love me. I knew that she would defend me against…anyone, no matter what I had done because I was her boy and that’s what mothers and soulmates are for, supporting you when you’re at your lowest whether you deserve it or not, but even in my worst nightmares where I came out or was outed or, or whatever, she never left me. She yelled sometimes or worse, she cried, but not even on my darkest days did I think that she would leave me.

“I just—there were days when she was the only person I still had on my side. What does it say about me now that even she can’t stand to stick around?”

Bittle had finally stopped shaking in Jack’s arms and collapsed heavily against him, too emotionally exhausted to even tremble. The lines of the Bittle’s body were a study in defeat and Jack ached to be able to provide any comfort at all. Shitty would have been better at this, Jack thought. His phantom presence had been the only thing to lift Jack at his worst moments. That presence had been what ultimately distracted him from swallowing the last handful of pills he held before he had blacked out. He wished he knew how to be the same kind of comfort for Bittle.

Jack tried to push all his love into the words when he said, “Bittle, what she chooses to do doesn’t say anything about you.” They said a fair bit about Suzanne, Jack thought, but doubted Bittle would stand for anything negative to be said against his mother. Even if the words were true. Especially if the words were true. “She’ll make whatever decision she makes, but no one can hold you responsible for those choices.”

Though his hand clenched in Jack’s shirt and he curled his smaller body as close as physically possible, Bittle didn’t say anything else that night.

For two days, it felt like Bittle was balanced on a single, dull blade. Jack himself felt sudden sympathy for medics on the sidelines who couldn’t do anything during a game except wait for the inevitable check that would leave someone spitting blood onto the ice. There wasn’t a thing he could do to soften the blow. For those two days, he spent all his home time going back and forth between comforting Bittle and begging comfort off Shitty. Shitty even called, demanding to know what had Jack more stressed than he had been in years, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to tell his soulmate more than the vague details of Bittle’s stress. Shitty spent full hours after that sending the soothing motions of scalp pets and tight hugs across their connection. Jack tried to emulate that comfort for Bittle, to little success.

The blow finally came midmorning on the twenty-eighth. Jack was getting ready to leave for practice and Bittle was half-heartedly putting together Jack’s lunch. He kept getting distracted, his unfocused eyes directed out the window, though he only smiled softly the few times Jack pulled his attention back to the present. It was while Bittle was humming—a few beats behind—to the pop song playing on his phone when he suddenly lurched away from the counter and dove for the sink, gagging and throwing up the little bit he had eaten that morning. Jack was next to him in a second, one hand rubbing along Bittle’s spine and the other fluttering uselessly.

“Bits! Bits, what’s wrong, you need to tell me what’s wrong, what can I do to help? Do you need water? Eric!”

It was another minute of begging before Bittle stood back up. His arms were crossed over his stomach and his eyes were wild when he whispered, “Jack, I taste ash.”

Then Bittle was lunging again, this time for his phone. He swiped it open and jabbed at the screen until he found what he wanted and pulled the phone against his ear. Jack could hear the sound of a call ringing out, three…four…five times with no answer. Without leaving a voicemail, Bittle tried again, begging the unconnected call, “Mama? Mama, please!” Then he tried again. When that call went unanswered too, he stabbed at the screen again until he found another number to try. This time when Bittle raised the phone to his face, Jack caught the contact name: Coach.

There was still no answer.

“Jack.” Bittle was on the edge of hyperventilating. “What if—what if there was an accident? What if they couldn’t get out or—what if—” Jack wrapped his arms around Bittle and felt Bittle’s hands crumple his shirt. His ramblings were interrupted by a notification from his phone and Bittle unlocked the device faster than Jack had ever seen him move. It wasn’t a call or even a text though. It hadn’t been the right alert sound for either of those, Jack knew. Bittle opened the notification anyways and his fingers trembled over the screen. Then he bit his lip.

Finally, he turned the screen to show Jack. It took him a full ten seconds to understand.

Suzanne had just posted a new recipe, along with the picture of the new creation. _Pecan-Cranberry Tarts: Perfect for a lazy, winter morning brunch! These are just out of the oven, still steaming, but I just couldn’t help myself—they taste absolutely divine. My husband has already eaten three. When making them, I recommend…_

Jack ignored the rest of the blog post and raised his gaze back to Bittle’s. He cupped Bittle’s face with one hand, pushing away the tears that had begun to escape. “Bits,” he began, but Bittle babbled over him.

“I didn’t taste it, I didn’t even smell it! I can’t taste anything except a mouthful of ash and I know my mama is not eatin’ ash, she never even touches a pie if it’s burned and if I can’t taste what she’s cooking any more—Jack what do I do? It’s not—it can’t be—I’ve heard of soulmate rejection, but this can’t be it, because she wouldn’t—not forever, just for a while, right? Jack?”

Jack shook his head. There were no words, not any that he could find anyways. Instead, he took Bittle’s phone, his grip already surprisingly loose, and slid it onto the counter in order to crush Bittle against his chest. A few minutes later, Bittle tried to pull away. He didn’t get very far. “You have practice,” he reminded Jack. “You can’t stay here babysitting me.”

While Jack wanted to stay and correct everything wrong with that second statement, he really did have to get to practice. “Is there anyone up at school who could come down? You shouldn’t be alone today,” he said instead.

Bittle shook his head. “They’ve all gone home for the holidays.”

“What about Lardo? She’s spending the break with Shitty, isn’t she? That’s only an hour away.” Jack already had his phone out and was dialing over Bittle’s head while the shorter man tried to snatch the phone away.

“No! Jack Laurent Zimmerman, don’t you dare interrupt their week together. They’ve hardly seen each other at all this semester and this isn’t worth them dropping everything—”

“Bittle,” Jack stopped him. “Would you drop everything for them over something like this?”

“That’s not the point, Jack!” Jack had to drag in a steadying breath so that he wouldn’t snap back at Bittle. Bittle was glaring at him and checking his own abandoned phone out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not fair to them,” Bittle insisted stubbornly.

“Maybe not,” Jack conceded, though he didn’t agree. “But, I have to get to practice and I won’t be back until later in the afternoon. I don’t want you to be alone today, so please, just for my peace of mind, let them come stay with you. You all can do whatever you want—watch a movie or bake or go out or get drunk—just please let them hang out with you today. I swear they won’t mind.” Bittle’s brow was furrowed, but after a long moment, he nodded shakily. “Thank you,” Jack sighed in relief and pressed a kiss to Bittle’s forehead before dropping more on his temple, his cheek bone, the corner of his lips. Bittle turned his head just slightly and returned the kiss with a chaste press of his lips.

“You should get going,” Bittle said when Jack pulled away. Jack didn’t miss the way Bittle swiped at his eyes—there really was no way to make that move subtle. “I’ll be fine until they get here. Promise.” His smile was tremulous, but determined, and Jack nodded.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promised.

Jack was unfocused during practice. He had called Lardo on his way to the rink and she and Shitty had promised to leave immediately (and to speed the whole way there). Jack couldn’t check his phone during practice though to hear if they had arrived safely or if they needed anything or if Bittle was doing any better. A little less than an hour into practice, the soothing pets he had been feeling from Shitty lessened and he assumed that meant they had made it, but he couldn’t stop worrying. He was unfocused and nearly useless the whole day and Marty ended up sending him home early with a, “Go take care of whatever you need to, Zimms. We need you focused again.” Usually Jack would have been offended, but today, he just nodded and sprinted off the ice.

He had two texts from Lardo, one saying that they had gotten to his apartment and were with Bitty and another asking if there was any way for him to get home sooner. The second had been sent nearly three hours ago.

He also had about a dozen text from Shitty that became more and more incoherently curse-filled the longer they went on.

Jack sped the whole way home.

He opened his front door as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb anything, only to find Shitty and Lardo alone on the couch, curled into one another. “Hey,” Lardo noticed him first and Shitty looked up with wide eyes.

“Hey. Where’s Bittle?” Jack asked. Lardo pressed her lips into a thin line.

“His mother was cooking again so he went to take a nap,” she said. Her tone was brittle and Jack knew Bittle must have told her everything. She would hold her temper, Jack knew, because Bittle needed her too for a while still, but he could see the second when Shitty reached his breaking point.

“This whole shit-fest is fucked up!” Shitty declared and Lardo swatted him.

“Shut up,” she hissed and though Shitty shook his head, he did lower his voice to a terse whisper-yell.

“Well, it is! What kind of soulmate—hell, what kind of parent—just rejects someone like that? Especially their kid! Bits has always adored his mom. I thought she was supposed to be one of the good ones!” Jack sighed and dropped himself onto Shitty’s other side, pressed against him. Shitty threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Me too, Shits,” Jack said. “She’s…confused isn’t the right word, but honestly, I don’t know what is. And she’s going to end up hurting just as much as Bitty is. Maybe more considering that this was actually her choice. Has she responded at all?”

Lardo shook her head. “Bitty didn’t bake at all today. He didn’t want her to have to feel what he did.” Jack’s heart sank. Bittle was a stress baker. Jack had never seen any bad situation that Bittle didn’t attack with a recipe and a rolling pin. He had no idea what Bittle would do now. He doubted Bittle knew either. “I tried to get him doing some arts-n-crafts,” Lardo continued, “but he couldn’t get into it. We did some research on soulmate rejections and—god—Jack, they suck, so fucking much. I can’t even imagine never seeing my soulmate’s emotions again! Anyways, I think he started writing an email to Suzanne, but he didn’t show it to us and I don’t know if he sent it. Jack, I’m really worried for him.”

“Me too,” Jack said. _But I don’t know what to do._ “I’m going to go check on him. Would you guys order some take out or something? I’m starving.”

He left them there, Shitty sending a stroke up his arm along with him. In his bedroom, he found Bittle still asleep, though his face was too tense for the nap to be at all restful. Jack hurried to change and shower, hoping to leave Bittle to whatever rest he could get, but when he returned from the ensuite, Bittle was blinking at him blurrily.

“Hey, bud,” Jack eased onto the bed and laid down facing Bittle.

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re home early.”

“Yeah, Marty let us out early,” Jack half-lied. “Did you sleep well?” Bittle didn’t answer. Instead he pushed himself closer until they were pressed chest to chest and Bittle closed his heavy eyes. “Bits?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to ask if you’re doing okay.” Jack felt Bittle shrug against him.

“I’m doing better, I think. I was going to ask if you could read something over for me though. It can wait until later though.”

Jack thought he already knew what Bittle was talking about, but he still said, “Of course I will. What is it?” Bittle inhaled deeply.

“It’s an email for my mother. Just to explain what happened, but I don’t want it to come off accusing or anything. Thought you could check it for me.”

Personally, Jack felt that a fair bit of accusing was justified, even necessary, but he knew that wasn’t what Bitty needed to hear. “I’m sure it’s fine, Bits, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll read it for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, honey.” They laid there together silently for a long while, just breathing together. Jack knew things would likely get worse before they got better, but, for as long as possible, he wanted to keep Bittle buffered from everything outside of themselves. It wouldn’t last long and there would be a long of bad days, days when he couldn’t be there physically for his boyfriend, no matter how much he wanted to. In another week, Bittle would return to Samwell and the Haus and Jack wouldn’t be able to come home to him after games or after practice.

However, he also knew that Bittle would not be alone. Lardo was living in the Haus now and she had the unique ability to always know when to push Bitty and when to pull back. The rest of the Haus-mates would give anything for Bitty after all he had given them over the years. Ransom and Holster would likely go too far in their attempts to lift Bitty’s spirits, but Lardo would pull them back to helpfulness again. Chowder would turn his endless warmth on Bitty. Dex and Nursey would probably cease they’re bickering long enough to subtly set Bitty up with a project, even if that project ended up being themselves. Johnson might even drop by, just somehow knowing that Bitty needed some of his extremely confusing, but somehow settling advice. It was just sort of the thing he did.

Jack was grateful Bittle had the friends he did because he would need a lot more than just Jack to get through the coming months. Jack didn’t even let himself think as far as the summer holidays yet because he had no idea how Bittle wanted to handle those. Instead, he focused on how to help Bittle now, turning thoughts back and forth in his mind.

It was a least a half hour later when Bittle asked, “Are Shitty and Lardo still here?”

“I think so. They were going to get some take out for us all. Should we go see if it’s here yet?” They hauled themselves out of bed and Jack followed Bittle’s stumbling into the living room. Someone, probably Shitty, had set the living room up with a picnic blanket and nearly a dozen cartons of Chinese food. They had already served themselves and were eating while watching an action movie Jack didn’t recognize. Two empty plates sat across from them, silverware lined up and obviously waiting for Jack and Bittle.

“Hey, sleepyheads,” Shitty said while Lardo muted the movie. “We weren’t sure what you two wanted so we just got a bit of everything. Hope you don’t mind that we already started.” Jack waved off his soulmate’s concern and pulled several cartons over to start serving himself while Bittle followed suit. They all ate in silence for a minute until Bittle looked up.

“Thank you for coming down, you two. I’m glad I wasn’t on my own today.” He just barely flinched when Shitty dropped his fork and dove forward, easily cocooning Bittle in his very hands-on style of comfort.

“Aw, Bits, you know we’d never leave you to deal with this shit yourself, right? We’ve got your back, no matter what, all the time, to the end of the line, and all that.” Bittle chuckled, extracting one hand in order to pat Shitty on the back. Jack could almost feel it too.

“I know, Shitty. Just…thanks. For everything.” The two of them stayed there, even as they went back to their food, with Bittle perched, somewhat haphazardly on Shitty’s lap. Lardo smirked over their heads at Jack.

“I think we’ve been replaced, bro,” she said.

“Nah, you know you’re my favorite, Lards. Bitty just need the extra love right now. In fact,” Shitty grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer until she was pressed against his left side. “Jackabelle, you get over here too!” Obligingly, Jack scooted across the blanket until he was pressed against Shitty’s right side and Bittle was half on Shitty’s lap, half on Jack’s.

“Y’all are too much,” Bittle said, but he smiled and relaxed into their cuddle puddle.

Lardo unmuted the movie and they all ate piled against each other until they had stuffed themselves. When they were done with the food, Jack and Bittle quickly packaged it all up and the four of them adjourned to the couch, finishing the movie as intertwined as they had been on the floor. Honestly, Jack wasn’t entirely sure what the point of the movie had been—some sort of quest, but he never did catch why they needed to rob the bank vault—but he didn’t care much either because as they film went on, Bittle slowly relaxed against his side.

When the movie was over and they had cleaned up the living room a bit, Lardo leaned forward with a serious expression. “Bitty, what do you want to tell everyone else. They’re going to know something’s up whether you tell them or not.”

“I don’t want to worry them over nothing,” Bittle began, but Shitty interrupted.

“Bits, you know this is a fuck-ton more than ‘nothing’.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bittle said, “but they shouldn’t have to worry over this either.” Jack understood Bittle’s need to handle his problems on his own, but he had also learned, repeatedly, that it was neither necessary or helpful to carry with such a heavy burden alone. He leaned forward.

“I think you should tell them, Bits,” he said. “Not everything, if you don’t want to, but you should let them be there for you.” Bittle bit his lip like he was holding something back, but after a moment of searching Jack’s face, he let out a sigh instead.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll tell them, if they ask,” Bittle said. Jack took the compromise.

“Thank you,” he said. Bittle nodded then looked away.

Shitty and Lardo left a few minutes later, still having to drive all the way back to Cambridge. When they were gone, Jack proposed they call it an early night and head back to bed; it had already been an exhausting day. Bittle didn’t argue, but on the way to their bed, he stopped to retrieve his computer. Bittle didn’t say anything about it until they had both crawled under the covers, and Jack was reaching out to turn off the lamp on his side.

“Wait,” Bittle said. “Can you read this now?” Bittle had opened up his email drafts and was pointing to the most recent one, though he didn’t open it himself. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I send it.” Jack nodded solemnly and Bittle passed him the laptop.

The email was short and straightforward with none of Bittle’s usual rambling or tangents. In short order, Bittle had explained what he had experienced that morning when she tested her new recipe, stated that he finally knew definitively that she had rejected him and described some of the symptoms they would likely both experience from then on which, besides the taste of charcoal whenever one of them ate their own food, included headaches, a feeling of dissociation, nausea and occasional phantom pains from the now broken bond. Bittle apologized for disappointing her enough for her to break the bond. Then he wished her well, told her he loved her, and signed his name ‘Eric’.

When Jack looked up again, Bittle was scrolling through twitter on his phone. He was stiff in a way that said he was carefully not looking at either his laptop or Jack. “Bits?” Jack nudged him. Bittle looked up so quickly, Jack felt the whiplash. “I think it’s perfect.”

“You don’t think it’s too harsh? I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I don’t think it’s harsh at all, bud. It’s informative and it’s humble and it’s not asking for anything. If you feel ready to send it, I think you should.”

Bittle nodded decisively and took the computer back. Quickly, he scrolled through the email one more time then clicked ‘send’. He froze for half a second, as if shocked at what he had done, then snapped the laptop closed and placed it on his nightstand. Then he flicked his lamp off and pulled the comforter up to his ears, facing away. Jack turned off his light too, spooned Bittle from behind and nuzzled into the soft hairs of Bitty's nape.

“Jack,” Bittle whispered in the dark several minutes later. “How long is this going to last?”

“How long is what going to last?” Jack asked.

“This—it hurts. Will it always feel like this?” Jack tightened his hold.

“No. Things like this tend to lose their hold on us after a little while,” Jack promised.

“How long?”

Jack sighed and kissed the knob at the base of Bittle’s neck. “I wish I knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ok?
> 
> So, like, I know everything surrounding Suzanne's baking really sucks right now, but those tarts she made were based on [this](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/234673/pecan-cranberry-butter-tarts/?internalSource=hn_carousel%2001_Pecan-Cranberry%20Butter%20Tarts&referringId=12948&referringContentType=recipe%20hub&referringPosition=carousel%2001) recipe and they look amazingly good. Someone try them and tell me how they go.
> 
> Also, things will get better in the next (and last!) chapter, dears.
> 
> Comments and kudos help Bitty heal!


	6. Chapter 6

It was a long time. Not as long as it could have been, because Bittle wasn’t alone, but far longer than Bittle deserved. At the end of the winter break, Jack drove Bittle back to Samwell and spent the night with him in the near-empty Haus. Lardo had already returned, but Chowder, Ransom and Holster wouldn’t be back until just before classes started back again. When Jack left the next morning, Bittle was baking quietly again.

Within hours of everyone’s return, the whole story had come out and even Chowder was ‘pissed as hell’ according to Lardo. But, just as Jack had known they would, the entire Haus turned their love and comfort on Bittle, all of them together stabilizing him in a way that nearly made up for his missing soulmate.

A few weeks into January, Bittle told Jack that Suzanne had finally emailed him back. She hadn’t said much and the entire email boiled down to ‘maybe things will be different when you change’. It was the first time since Bittle had tasted ash that Jack saw him angry. That night, for the first time since Samwell’s winter break had begun, Bittle enough baked pies and cookies to feed every last member of the hockey team. He spitefully tasted every single batch.

“I shouldn’t have to change for her to love me,” Bittle said, rolling out more dough. “I’m her soulmate and her son and she should love me and she should love me because of who I am, not in spite of it. What about me? Even though I was terrified of coming out to her and Coach for years, and even though I knew how much they hated people like me, I still loved them both! I still do love them both! Doesn’t that count for anything?” Jack had wished they weren’t Skyping just then so that he could pull Bittle—flour-covered hands and all—onto his lap to hold him and kiss him.

“It does count,” he had said instead. “It counts because it shows how strong you are and how much you give to people, even when we don’t deserve it.”

“I wish she saw it that way.”

“She might,” Jack said, “someday.”

“But she also might not,” Bittle added.

“And either way, you’ll be fine,” Jack assured him.

“I know.”

Bittle was more than fine. In fact, he was amazing. After a few weeks, his usual good humor returned in full force, even if some evenings found him still and silent. By the time June rolled around, very few people around Bittle would have known that anything was missing.

Lardo, Ransom, and Holster all graduated and the Haus was packed up. This time instead of sending Bittle back off to Georgia with a kiss, Jack drove Bittle down to Providence and they moved him into their apartment for the summer. Jack had more time to spend with him because the hockey season was over and they spent those few months without much commotion. They visited Jack’s parents in Montreal for a couple weeks and spent most of the rest of their time lazing around together.

Bittle couldn’t stand to bake as much as he used to, though Jack knew Bittle would never be able to drop the tradition entirely. Though the taste of ash was never as strong as it had been that first morning and it did decrease over time, Bittle’s baking frequency dropped dramatically. He couldn’t bear to inflict his baking on Suzanne so often. Instead, he spent the summer finding a new hobby. Jack tried to teach him photography, but Bittle couldn’t stand feeling so distant from his subject. He painted a few times with Lardo, took a few dance classes, even tried yoga. In the end, Bittle started gardening.

The end of July wasn’t the best time to start a garden and Jack’s apartment had not even the vague notion of a yard, but one day Bittle brought home half a dozen pots ranging in size from one only a few inches tall to one two feet wide. Then he went right back out and brought in several plants that Jack couldn’t even try to name. Without much explanation, Bittle laid a tarp out across the kitchen floor and began transferring plants into their pots. Two hours later, Jack’s window sill was lined in greenery and Bittle was smiling widely. “Don’t worry, I’ll take them back with me to school. But they look nice, don’t you think?” Jack nodded, unbelievably proud of his boyfriend, and pulled Bittle into a hard kiss.

It was about more than the fact that Bittle had potted the leafy shrubs and bright flowers by himself; anyone could do that. Jack was simply proud of Bittle. The blond had every right to hate Suzanne, and Coach, for the way they had rejected him. He could have easily clung to his anger and cultivated it into hatred and rag. Many would have said that that would have been the better option, a way for Bittle to keep his heart safe in the future. He also could have taken that anger and turned it inward, blaming himself for what had happened But of course, Bittle was smarter than all of them, even at only twenty-one years old. Hate would get him nowhere. Instead, he had taken his hurt heart and decided that the best way to heal was to grow something new. He didn’t rage against his mother, didn’t find some way to get his father fired or turn their neighbors against them. He gone out and found some, apparently useless, shrubbery and decided to nurture it and to make it beautiful. The concept was so inherently Bitty and it was one of the reasons Jack had fallen in love with the man. When they finally pulled out of the kiss, gasping just a little, Bittle laughed at the potting soil that had smeared across Jack’s face, but Jack didn't mind it.

A few weeks later, Jack returned Bittle (and his lovingly cared for plants) to Samwell. Bittle was the oldest Haus-veteran now and he directed everyone’s moving in with ease. When Jack left again—only for until the next weekend—Bittle was directing Dex and Nursey to separate rooms (“Good Lord, you don’t actually think we would let you two room together, do you? We want the Haus to survive the next two years!”) and unpacking his baking utensils. He had promised all the boys a piece of his newest creation: strawberry and basil pie using his own homegrown herbs and they all seemed willing enough to try the unusual combination as long as Bittle was the one making it. Jack let himself out of the house quietly and let the chaos fall behind him. Bittle glanced up just in time to catch Jack’s eye through the kitchen window and he waved brightly. He looked comfortable and safe, like he belonged exactly where he was. Jack climbed into his truck knowing Bittle would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you Bitty would be okay.
> 
> Bitty's strawberry and basil pie is based off [this](http://tutti-dolci.com/2015/04/strawberry-basil-pie/) recipe and his new hobby was inspired by [this](http://manyahello.tumblr.com/post/158544487477/gardener-au-im-a-bad-writer-but-if-youre) adorable gardener!bitty au.
> 
> So, this is the last chapter for this fic, but I'm thinking about playing around with this 'verse a bit more and looking at a very different perspective...hmmm...what grumpy little redhead might not want to have a soulmate at all? I wonder... Don't count on anything else coming from me for at least a couple more weeks though. Finals start next Saturday (yes, I have a final Saturday afternoon and everything kinda sucks), go for the next several days and then I'm moving apartments so...I'll be back, eventually. Keep an eye out.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://chipofftheoldsoul.tumblr.com/) if you want to stop by. I always love taking writing prompts if you've got one.
> 
> And, last but not least, your comments and kudos will help Bitty's garden grow!


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